Post Boohabia

Kinetics

kinetics

for the art
creativity voltage for the spark
plug me to the ear
pump amps to the heart

rhythmic tonality
kinetic orality
prophetic morality
critically affirms progressive mentality
concatenate and concentrate
the first two leave later for the sub pate
voodoo, i poo poo the guru
like a trickster im conjuring dream state
oops upside your head
pomo virtual reality
is the causality for the flavor
mix scratch sample eclecktica savor
ribbon flow, blues power, rhyme shower
vo de oh do, incorrect, past the hour
zoom to the bat, forefront take the place
smaller than fat, micromind inner space

what am i saying
kinetics takes the fore
start praying for a movement in the light ever more
switch back to an old nouveaux
look back in time and don't blame the negro
can we recapture the blues and use
the voice of our grandmothers
aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews
and great great grand pa

Food In A Box

food in a box

 

the problem i have is this - food in a box

as an urban dweller, skill seller

im marketable, size 10 in my socks

i can find anywhere anyplace to sell and be sold to

 

clothes off the rack fit

i got enough snaps to pick it up if i so desire

i say wrap it up homes, flash the card

get certified

(the hangers are wood, not wire)

 

so i step to the pad

quite happy - having hunted and gathered

new duds for the hoe down

so i go downtown and across the bridge

to my flat with the empty fridge

 

you see the problem i have is this - food in a box

can't cook for myself - gotta look to the shelf

sardines capn crunch and crackers with the elf.

no justice

 

from their rack to my rack

i hang the slacks and think a minute bout being black

or whatever i am blackness wants to mack this feeling

and call it out so i can shout, now im reeling

 

why the hell do i dwell so well in this way

throwing empty cartons in a bag every day

and plastic at that

and call this urban drama living fat?

 

maybe my grandpa could use the tool

of forty acres and a mule

as for me i gotta have a mac and a mouse

cause that's what i learned in school

not keeping a house

 

so, the problem i have is this - food in a box

trust the label though im not able

to tell vitamin a from cholesteral

cant grow spinach to save my soul, yall

so i hope a honey

(in the language of the oppressed, about

the cute objects in a dress)

might cook for me

so ill convince her that my degree

is the key

to our mutual sucess

 

don't get too fresh

remember who wears the pants, who wears the dress

a situation like that works

dysfunctionally, with much pain, for better or worse

but mostly worse - they warn you ahead of time

that box is a crime

 

i guess the problem i have is this - food in a box

sometimes if im critical i get political

and all riled up about an issue as old has the hills

i wait for the next senate bill

and hope my choice with a pipsqueak voice

call in to oprah and wait on the line

like this is democracy, dont worry be happy

got no ability to sway the senate my way

cept once every six for two out of a hundred

did my mission get funded?

no tell me what to do till they pass the ballot box again

 

eat food in a box

get sick as a dog chewing like a bump on a log

and the box maker's high on the hog

no justice

 

america is a super duper market

and all the food is boxed

consume it, you consumer!

spread the lies as a rumor of truth

food in a box is nutrition as proof

see the supermodel smile

knowing all the while

(from lifestyles of the rich and famous

beat a path to her retreat for peace and she blames us)

its a bogus current affair, what nerve to try it

peddled with subliminal flair, we know but still we buy it

pay with cash if it's there or loot if it's a riot.

 

the problem i have is this - food in a box.

wathcing the idiot box for the 88th time

i promised to give the insulter the boot

for the crime of poisining my mind

drive in my car, to get food for the vcr

feed it and weep, if its drama i select

nothing but sheep we become if it's not in check

but a library's too unboxed with no direction

guess i check the calendar section

 

is there nothing i can find on my own

without some package or label to tell me

or psuedo intellectual critics to sell me

is there no soil left for me to seed

no living to posess for other than greed

Amazing Grace, A Love Poem

amazing grace

 

internal external battle

blood weary happy strolling fires

invitation to life, worlds and conflict

fragments of love, wrestling

with the real deal.

 

all of you makes me think

of all of me, I take

you take. we create

a unity of

spirits and flinty hearts

 

no fair time for experiments

we are organic in the biosphere

everything is out and living, changing us

there is no forgiveness, no second chance

no protected class.

 

a hail of ideological pellet paragraphs

whip us in a gale gust of politics.

spit cursing into the force

we are a strident militia

of interlocked desire and

lunatic poverty.

 

how sweet the sound

that echoes from our private language

of eyelash kisses in the shelter

of a moment's respite

how bitter the torment

of enemies within  without

peace orphaning impulses from

the sacrament of smiling

 

again we wake

waist deep in loam

arching sideways against

our roots knowing our eyes

philotrophic are only proper

our limbs meet

in triumph over gravity.

tears water

fruit is born

 

take, eat all of you

this is my body

given for you

do this for the remembrance of me.

Seventeen Years

seventeen years plus of incomplete poems
the legacy of my halfwit journal.
some raps in rhythms unrecognizable.
confessions, impressions I’d rather deny.

life's a complaint of itinerate storms
downpouring madness and leaving me soaking.
giving me weight so I feel myself walking
dripping by conscience I’d rather be dry.

Inward summations delivered to no one
Or no one to puncture my aura for fear
I grimace and stomach and savor my bile
And smile like Charlie himself were still here.

Passersby pass not lingering to mass up
Behind my stentorian fury and rap
never to face me and listen i scream out
taunting with tearjerks surrounded by crap

Crap is my crapulous fabulous fawning
 fearing and fraying my foundling estate
 wearing a black magic mojo since dawning
 awaiting a journey from hoodrat to state

 prison, my prison my only creation
 down south of the order rejected at twenty
 in five thousand square feet of modern plantation
 i stare at my largesse, resenting my plenty

these are the walls that anomie authored
these are the halls that venom financed
i am the minotaur in my own mansion
realizing finally that i could have danced

but product came proven in markets that swelled
on airwaves of hiphop and vinyl of clubs
on dark dj mixtapes on paintcans and bells
my beats and my lyrics brought me double dubs

i rolled like a gangsta from ganking producers
i slid like a serpent from sirens to whores
i mocked my pretenders as if i were original
i prayed every morning to sell out the stores

seventeen dollars of respect was all
i aggregated from millions sayin' yes y'all
seventeen years i remember the tears i spent dreaming
to get the girls screaming my name
seventeen days ago my son died
incarnate the fiction i made into fame 
and seventeen million are bored with the story
all whorey and gorey i sold to the masses
seventeen hours i stood in the bedside
and saw myself finally through blood splattered glasses

An Introduction to Post Boohabia

post boohabia will likely be
the last you ever hear of me
unless some sunday yet to come
some publisher will kiss my bum
and represent to his small world
the etchings of a madman
the rantings of a drunk
the bloody chalk on macadam
done up in shades of punk

for i know wretched evil lies dormant in my scribblings
and yet awaits the revelation of cantilevered multimedia
to be consumed by excess human leisure
to be funded by the bored attempting self-righteousness
to be denied - ever denied
though the younger man tried

the boohab was an idea stolen from inspiration
and was the soundtrack to my soul
before i cared for preparation
beyond the treats of jazz and soul
and lyrics and beats 
and bohemian treats
as if spicy eats were more than libation

so spend if you will
a moment's pause for my playground pusher
to swing you high then sideways
listen for the crashing of chains
and the view of ass from below
as we mistake centripetals for gravity
and recognize half looped .. now seventeen years later than late

i was only clever and never half great